


To a far dragon lair

by FlaminiaK



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gandalf Meddles, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Orcs are assholes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overprotective Dwarves, Political mess somewhere in the middle, Slavery, Tags Are Hard, Torture, gore at some point, this will not be an only angst fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlaminiaK/pseuds/FlaminiaK
Summary: Thorin's Company had disbanded.A headstrong burglar and a proper, brave hobbit had returned home, wounded in body and spirit. Life seemed devoid of the previous happiness, having our hobbits lost dear friends and a lover in the battle.Until Bilbo became uncle of a stubborn little half-hobbit and the mood lightened up for twenty-six years.- - - - -They came out of the earth.Vermins, mud-covered warriors. Locusts that swarmed the green lands until only black and burnt remained.The Shire was lost.(summary will be updated)
Relationships: Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you so much for being here!  
> I have a little announcement before you start reading: I'm searching for a beta-reader.  
> Being non-native, I ofter struggle with English and I find myself needing someone to check my work before posting...or even to just bounce my ideas off to know if they're good or not xD  
> If some of you want to be my beta-reader please say so and I'd be extremely happy!  
> Meanwhile, have a good reading!

Life was good in The Shire.

Not perfect, but good nonetheless.

That day, in particular, was expected to be the best, for it was Midsummer's eve and a young man's birthday.

Thorian was going to be twenty-six and could not contain his excitement, running around Hobbiton doing his fair share of errands.

People avoided him with the classic 'stretched smile' Hobbits had when they wanted you out of their hair. Maybe his appearance had something to do with it, but Thorian rarely mulled over it.

Taller than most Hobbits, unruly and stubborn to a fault. He had an adventurous streak broad and deep as a canyon, that some would call boisterous, but Thorian was always eager to help where he could. His mother taught him so with words or through yanked ears. "Good morning!" Thorian chirped with the widest smile he could muster, as he entered the butcher's shop, near the Green Dragon. "I'm here to collect my mother's order, if I may?".

Old McGuffer looked him up. Scoffed. Disappeared in the back of the shop only to re-emerge with a big parcel, enveloped in brown paper. "Thank you! Have a nice day!" Thorian added as he paid, taking the package with carefulness. "Eugh. Stop smiling so much next time." the butcher replied before disappearing again.

Uncurbed by the Hobbit's words, Thorian sauntered outside, food well-tucked against his side. He gave the tavern a long, longing look, before shaking his head and walking up the street.

There will be time for ale later in the night, he thought. For now, he just could not wait for his birthday supper. His mother promised him honey-smothered lamb chops, roasted vegetables, garlic bread, milk-boiled turkey, and best of all, her famous chocolate cake!

Oh, just the thought of all that food made his stomach grumble... And he just finished his second breakfast! "Oh look who's here! Thorian, my boy!" a cheerful voice came from behind him and the young man laughed as he turned. "Uncle Bilbo, what are you doing around at this early hour?" Thorian snickered. "Thought you hated the morning crowd!".

Still holding the packaged meat he walked up to the smaller hobbit, flashing now a more cheeky smile. Bilbo replied with a wave of his hand, a full canvas bag in the other. "Humph, nonsense!" he joked. "I'm out and about for the same reason you are! Happens to be my first nephew's birthday, so I'm searching for a good present for him," Bilbo added with a wink.

Thorian's eyes lit up at the word 'present' and Bilbo chuckled. "I swear you didn't grow up past your twelve years!"

"Why, only little kids can enjoy a good birthday?"

"You still _are_ a kid, Thorian! You've just grown in size!"

"Just you wait until I'm thirty-three!"

"Coming of age will not save your childish behavior, young man!"

The quick-witted banter was something common between the two since Thorian managed to string words together with coherence. It was their way of showing the strong bond it bloomed over the years, even if the older and grouchier Master Baggings would never confess to that.

"How is your mother?" Bilbo asked with now softer lines in his face. "Busy at the oven, per usual," came the reply. "She rudely kicked me out of bed only so I couldn't see what she's preparing," Thorian pouted his lips in disappointment, tucking the package in his elbow crease.

A sincere, light laugh came from Bilbo before he shook his head. "Sounds like your mother alright! Can't wait to taste all her newest recipes, she spoke about some dwarven dish she wanted to try, Gandalf will-" Bilbo said, before realizing what came out of his mouth.

He sputtered for a second then clutched the canvas bag tighter. "Oh bother, I think I left my kettle on the fire this morning!" the hobbit quickly paced away, raising one hand as a goodbye while power-walking towards Bag End. "See you at the party!" his exclamation came right before he turned around the corner.

Thorian remained still as a statue in the middle of the road, brows pinched together in confusion before it hit him.

"Gandalf??"

The name blurted out of his mouth in a surprised, excited tone. Gandalf will come for his birthday??

It's been some years since he saw the old wizard. Even if Gandalf came every year for the recurring Midsummer festival, Thorian had things coming up every time: one time was because he broke both his legs trying to jump from the Green Dragon's roof in a drunken dare (his mother later had his hide for that).

Another year was because it rained so hard the festival had been canceled. The Brandywine almost flooded the plaza and Thorin had to work all autumn with his mother to reinforce their side of the river shore, in their garden.

So, you will understand, Gandalf coming to his birthday party was a big deal, because Thorian remembered the stories he told, his magic tricks, his lessons and, recently, his wonderful taste in pipe-weed.

Giddy as a sugar-hyped child, Thorian practically ran back home, jumping over their wooden fence and bursting in his home with a "Gandalf is coming??".

The immediate reply came from the kitchen. "Wha-?" then a little squeak, the clanging of few empty pots falling down, and then a deep, frustrated groan. "Baaaaaggings!" his mother hollered, coming out of the kitchen.

She had her 'down-to-business' apron, full of stains and a little wrinkled. Her hair was a cloudy red mess mixed with flour, and her eyes had a strange light in them. Thorian didn't know if it was sad disappointment or thunderous rage. "I told him to keep it secret!" she waved a wooden spoon around, with the same fierceness of a broadsword. "Damned Hobbits and their big mouths!" she humphed, looking up to her son with a sad puppy look. "I wanted it to be a big reveal ... Gandalf promised to be here before the party and wizards are already unreliable with their 'be when they are needed to be' mentality and now here comes Bilbo and takes away the surprise...".

Thorian smiled fondly, seeing his mother so forlorn about it.

Since a young age, the young man always knew his mother cherished him dearly, helping him out whenever she could. The woman never had to work thanks to a big wad of gold she had on the side, insisting she 'rightly earned it' right before his birth, so miss Rosefairy Noakes only had to raise his child to the best of her abilities.

"Don't be so sad, I'm still happy to-" "I'm not sad, I'm furious!" she quickly quipped back, whipping up the spoon again. "Two months of flea-riddled carrier pigeons and cryptic wizardly-letters! Only because Gandalf can't simply say ' _yes dear, I'll come to visit_ ' and ' _I passed your message to whom it concerned_ '! Oh no, I had to translate from wizard to normal and back... and clean up pigeon poo from every surface! Twice!".

The long-winded rant had a heated start, for sure, but as she spoke and imitated the soft, deep voice of Gandalf, Thorian started to snicker. The more he giggled, the more she lost the edge in her words. "Oh stop laughing, you rascal!" Rosefairy jokingly slapped her son's arm, before deflating almost completely.

With a deep sigh, she shook her head. "Damage is done, no need to worry myself over it I suppose. At least Bilbo managed to spoil only _part_ of the surprise. Twenty-six is an important number in this household, after all!" Rosefairy promptly yanked the brown package from her son's arms as he took a double-take. "What do you mean with 'part' of it? Mom? What did you do??" he asked now even more excited, trying to follow her along the single tunnel of their house, round windows facing towards the river and the main road to the Shire. "What did you plan? Come on couldn't just tell me? I'll feign surprise I promise!".

The maid-hobbit only laughed, shooed Thorian away from the kitchen (giving him a good-natured threat to not enter until she called, just in case), and went back to the preparation.

"You will see when you will see, Thorian!" was the last thing his mother said before falling in the silence of concentration.

Thorian harrumphed his way back to his room. He tried to busy his mind with his favorite book, Tales of Fire and Gold by Gerontius Pott, but Thorian managed to read exactly one paragraph before he admitted defeat.

His mother always had a way to worm her way into his head, especially when she wanted to make him all giddy-up and hyped before a big event.

An idea popped up in his brain and his face just scrunched into a naughty grin: with the right distraction, he could sneak in the kitchen and take a peek of every plan his mother made. And have a little taste of honey lamb chops.

He was just a teen-aged hobbit, how could he deny himself a little mischief from time to time? He's been a good boy since The Wheelbarrow Incident, Thorian needed to let out some troublemaker steam!

The young man hopped off his bed and took his hands up to his neck, unlacing the necklace he wore. As the silver, elongated bead rolled on his palm, Thorian watched how it shone, metal threadbare in some places and crevices darkened with age. The necklace had been with him since he was five, passed from his mother to him. As she handed him the piece of jewelry, she explained to her son about the rune embossed on both sides, similar to the foot of a sparrow.

It meant protection. It meant strength.

Thorian tucked the necklace safely into his pocket and, stifling a grin, walked out of his room.

It was quite the exhibition: Thorian paced in front of the big, round kitchen door. Knelt down. Checked behind furniture all along the main corridor. He even opened the front door and kept it open for a few seconds, watching the outside ground. Every time he muttered "not here" under his breath, eyes verifying if his mother noticed.

She, indeed, had noticed but managed to ignore her son in favor of finishing the last touches of the planned feast.

Until he brought out his secret weapon.

"Mom?" Thorian called then, making sure to put more than a pinch of anguish in his voice.

That was enough to summon his mother from the deepest depths of the pantry, her son's tone plucking at her motherly instincts. "What's the matter dear?" she asked, sincerely worried. Thorian sighed heavily, hands resting on his waist. "Have you seen my necklace? It broke off again..." he asked.

"Oh no!" she gasped bringing her hands to her face. "Have you checked into your room?" she didn't even suspect a ruse, the piece of jewelry being quite important for both of them, and when Thorian said he checked all around the house, his mother frowned. "Strange... I'll help you search, go check the garden. Maybe it fell before you left this morning. I'll take the broom and do a sweep inside" she then sweetly patted his arm. "We'll find it" added with a determined nod before swiftly go back inside.

Thorian's brooding face flashed cheekily as his mother disappeared and he sneaked into their home's garden, going all around the hill their hobbit-house was carved into.

As quickly as he could, he walked up to the flowerbeds underneath the kitchen's window and thanked the Gods above it was open.

Sure it was hot even for being summer, but Thorian thought his mother would at least assume her son would use it as a way to snoop around. Luckily the woman had too much faith in him.

The young man listened carefully to his mother’s whereabouts. When she trotted to the other end of the house, broom in hand, Thorian hoisted his upper body onto the windowsill. There wasn’t enough space for him to slither inside, due to his size, but with a little squeeze, he slipped one arm inside, then the other.

Thorian could already see a bunch of papers on the nearby kitchen counter and he sucked in his belly, leaning forward.

From that distance alone, he could already read some of his mother's calligraphy, mixed with other ones. Some messier, some more elegant. One letter was even written with curvy, elvish alphabet.

> _It would be ~~a pleasure~~ an honor to have you both here!_   
>  _Sends my regard to ~~Twiggy~~ your King and assure him I will send back his favorite mulberry pie._

> _Will be greatly appreciated if you could be here before the sun ~~sets~~_

> _**.Please accept my good wishes and this little contribution. May fortune and health be steadfast in your blood  
> ** _ _**.Also, I will wait for that pie with trepidation** _

> _Dear Gandalf, I am more than sorry for the ~~recent~~ lack of news, but I know you have been busy in your wizardly ways-_

> **_.I shall be in The Shire as soon as the day will break. Wait for my arrival in the late afternoon_ **

Then, Thorian’s eyes focused on a more far-away piece of paper, densely written. Seemed like a letter that his mother apparently didn’t send yet.

He stretched one arm as he could, his legs kicking a little on the other side of the windowsill, using the very tips of his fingers to drag the letter at a reading distance.

> _My dearest friend,  
> _ _I know much time has passed and surely you and the rest of the Company are busy rebuilding your life.  
> _ _However, I would only be a bold-faced liar if I didn’t say I miss all of you. Greatly, I might add.  
> _ _I miss our adventures.  
> _ _The laughter with Fili and Kili. The songs Bofur used to sang. The squabbles with Gloin.  
> _ _I even miss Dwalin’s sword lessons!  
> _ _But what I miss the most is your wisdom, Balin. Because now I need it more than ever._  
>  _A lot has happened since we saw each other and there is something really important I want -no, need- to speak about. I need your precious guidance on what to do._   
>  _I cannot write what it is (Gandalf spoke about political turmoils in your homeland and I don’t want to put you all in danger), but if you could visit The Shire as you receive my words, I’ll be waiting._   
>  _We will be waiting._

As he finished to read that missive Thorian frowned, worried and confused. He never knew his mother held inside her heart all the melancholy that dripped from the inked words.

Who were all those people she mentioned? Maybe some old friends she couldn’t see anymore? Thorian never saw his mother interact much with other hobbits, aside from good old Bilbo… and those didn’t feel like hobbit names. And especially, what she had to communicate so urgently and what happened in those people’s homeland to keep those kinds of secrets?

The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he stumbled upon a big mystery, covered by a thick layer of smiles, cordiality, and his mother’s deflections.

As he took a mental note about asking his mother later, even if it meant taking one ear-yanking for the team, a voice came from outside that made him jolt in surprise.

“Get away from there, thief, if you don’t wish to become an overgrown pincushion!”

It was a male voice, followed by a light female laugh. “Isn’t that a little too big to be a Hobbit?” the woman asked her male companion.

Thorian quickly tried to weasel his body off the windowsill, grunting when his clothes got stuck on one corner of it. He pulled, kicked, groaned, and finally, the young man fell on his backside in the flowerbed.

Turning his head to confront the strangers, he looked up to two very, _very_ tall people. Or for better terms, Elves.

One had long blond hair while the other had almost the same auburn shade of his mother’s. Both had clear, light eyes and while the man looked ready to grab the bow off his shoulders, the woman looked amused, with her arms crossed over her chest.

Thorian scrambled up to his feet, not even reaching the man’s chest with his head, and tried to hide his quite evident fear. “…Moooom??” he called from the kitchen window.

The elven man decked like going to war: he had a bow, a quiver full of arrows, and a pair of short swords peeking from behind his back. So was the woman, her swords more like daggers.

It could end up pretty bad for him if a fight broke out…they would ruin his mother’s favorite flowers and she would be quite distraught about it. “One moment, I can’t hear you!” Thorian heard his mother reply loudly. “Mooom?! Grab Belegwen!” Thorian added with a tense voice, the Elven woman barely stifling a laugh.

The blond man only furrowed his brows, turning to his companion to whisper something in a language unknown to Thorian. “What’s going on?? Did you find i– Oh for all the Gods!” Rosefairy exclaimed as her face appeared through the window frame.

Immediately she ran towards the front door, a big smile creasing her face. “Legolas! Tauriel!” she called out in pure happiness. She went up to them and without skipping a beat the maid-hobbit hugged them both -or rather, she hugged their legs-. “I’m so, so happy to see you both! I thought you would arrive later, I’m sorry there’s nothing prepared!” she chatted them up, the Elves smiling gracefully.

The red-headed, Tauriel, patted the hobbit’s head with affection, before indicating Thorian. “We came right in time to stop a thief.” she chuckled. Rosefairy watched her son, now near her with his gaze planted on the ‘strangers’ in their garden. “Oh no, no! He’s my son, Thorian.” at the news, Legolas rose his brows, confused.

“Thorian…?” he asked, but Tauriel gave a quick nudge with her elbow, whispering some other elven words. Legolas seemed appeased with the quick explanation and nodded. Rosefairy smiled, as she turned to her boy. “Thorian, these are Legolas and Tauriel,” she said as her arm moved in an arc towards their guests. “They come all the way from Mirkwood.”

Thorian’s eyebrows shot up so much they almost disappeared in his dark mane. “Mirkwood?” he breathed, shocked, and in awe. Tauriel chuckled as his mother continued to explain. “Oh yes, I told you enough times I have friends all over Middle Earth, did I not?” she joked. Thorian remembered his mother’s words, but he always thought she was making that up: how on earth a hobbit managed to journey that far??

“Now, don’t be shy and come inside!” Rosefairy said to her first guests, smile so large it almost split her face in half. “Thorian dear, can you please put the kettle up? There are biscuits in the pantry…!” she scurried over to the door, holding it wide for the Elves to almost crawl inside, eyes perusing the hobbit hole with marveling eyes.

“Tell me Legolas, how’s your father doing? Putting up some weight, has he?”


	2. Chapter 2

There he was, Elves in his own home enjoying tea and biscuits.

Thorian was still shocked about it really. He only read about Elves in his books or heard about them through his mother's stories, but never he imagined himself in their company.

Speaking about his mother, she was still blabbering away with them. All her loneliness had burst into an infinite stream of words, her excited smile lightning up the room.

They were in what they called ‘The Big Room’, refurbished for the sole purpose of letting the Tall People enjoy old-fashioned hobbit parties. The floor had been dug down by a good head into the ground, creating a step at the entrance. Being at the center of the hill, the only light came from the ceiling, where a big, round window gave away at the sky. There was a table in the middle, chairs of every size around it.

All around the room, Rosefairy decorated the walls with hand-drawn pictures: animals, plants, people she met.

There were no names under the portraits. She didn’t need names, she could recognize her friends everywhere.

Amongst the woman’s drawings, Thorian’s appeared like poppies in a field of wheat. Brightly colored and fuzzy.

His trembling child hand had traced around leaves and oddly-shaped rocks when it was not busy create mythical creatures with very stick-like features. "... And then I discovered where my old sword had disappeared by finding it buried in the garden!" Rosefairy laughed and the Elves with her.

“Mom!” Thorian yelped embarrassed, his face red. His mother didn’t stop, though. “You were trying to fight the orcs on their turf, I know dear I know!” she chuckled as she patted his arm again.

Thorian pouted a little, before eyeing the Elves some more “You never told me how you all met,” the young man added, and there Legolas made a small smirk. “Oh, your mother didn’t tell you? We had her and her companions locked down in our dungeon–” “Really??” Thorian inched closer to his chair’s edge, hunching forward with elbows on the table.

Rosefairy coughed a little, standing up. “I’ll go check the food!” “No no no, you don’t get to run away after shaming my baby-self!” Thorian laughed as he grabbed her mother around the waist, hugging her and holding her still at the same time. “What about the dungeons? What did you do to end up there?” the young man asked and Legolas continued, leaning back in his -elven sized- chair. “Mirkwood was, at the time, not open to travelers. Your mother and her friends didn’t care about our borders apparently,” he said, while the maid-hobbit seemed to sweat a little.

Tauriel was serving herself some tea, but she noticed the growing tension in her small friend’s face. “So you and your friends were trespassing?” Thorian turned his head to his mother. She was not amused for sure. “And you had the gall to scold me when I had to stroll through Grumpy Brandybuck’s kitchen garden?” “Don’t give me that attitude, mister” she mumbled “… and you stole six pumpkins from old Brandybuck! Six! We didn't steal a single thing.” Rosefairy humphed, but didn’t try to weasel herself away from the situation.

Legolas chuckled and watched the maid-hobbit. “You stole yourselves from our cells, nonetheless!” Tauriel joked, sipping her tea. “To this day, my father is still baffled on how you escaped. It is your fault the Northern Watergates had been under renovations for years!”.

Thorian egged the Elves to tell him everything and the two chipped here and there. When Tauriel spoke, it was about the drunken guards and the party, when Legolas did it was about the race down the river, the orcs hunting them, and the dwarves using barrels for boats.

Suddenly, during the tale, Rosefairy went rigid. “ _Lombali i maure ana termáre halda,_ ” she spoke with soft urgency. Legolas furrowed his brows in confusion and the maid-hobbit held a hand on her son’s shoulder. “ _Mecin, melin nur,_ ” added then, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

_Some secrets need to stay hidden.  
Please, dear friend_

Tauriel injected herself into the conversation, feeling a strange pressure building in the room. “ _So la vamme sinte?_ ” she asked and Rosefairy chuckled with a little shake of her head. “ _Vamme ilqua maure anan sinwa_ ,” came the reply.

_He does not know?_

_Not everything needs to be known_

Thorian only watched the exchange, before huffing. “There you go, speaking a language I don’t know…again!” he lamented only for his mother to laugh. “You’d know it if you paid attention to my lessons!”.

The young man shook his head, defeated, and Rosefairy patted his back. “Come on, I promise I won’t speak elvish again if you go check the chops in the oven,” she said, seeing her son now losing his grumpy expression as he stood up.

When he quickly walked towards the kitchen, Rosefairy was wise enough to add a ‘and don’t try to take a taste! I counted them!’ that squeezed a chuckle from everyone. "Such a lovely boy you have..." Tauriel whispered as she moved her eyes from the young man to her friend. "What is his age?" she asked then, while Legolas lowered his hand to the quiver resting near his leg. "It seems I could not define it on my own." added seconds later and Rosefairy turned her head for a moment, looking longingly at her son’s shadow in the kitchen.

Her loud and bright smile softened, in the warmth of her affection. "Today is his twenty-sixth birthday" the reply came immediately after. "The same as I was when I left the Shire. A little early, his coming of age will be only at thirty-three, but he's really mature for his age... When he wants to." she snickered to herself and Legolas nodded, taking in the information. "So my father has chosen a poorly-fitting gift for his age?" Legolas joked, grabbing a long but thin package from inside his quiver.

Rosefairy already suspected what it was, guessing from the shape of the parcel, but she took the gift and set it aside, on the smaller table where other gifts were starting to pile on. "Oh no, I think he'll enjoy this! Twiggy did good, he'll have his pie," she smirked.

Legolas looked shocked at the name, whilst Tauriel barely held back a laugh. They talked some more in those minutes, about Thorian (that now disappeared into the bathroom to sneakily eat his stolen lamb chop), about Mirkwood.

Rosefairy would've liked to ask about a particular place near the forest, but her words remained stuck behind her throat.

The only thing she knew about Erebor was the state their politics were: in shambles. Dain Ironfoot became King Under The Mountain, Gandalf had said in his letters, and since that moment all the seven main families of dwarven nobility tried to settle higher and higher in status.

There was no mention of her friends in Gandalf’s words, and that was the worst: for all she knew, they were slain by their own people in the neverending climb on the social ladder. Sure, the wizard advised her to try and reach Erebor (at least was what she understood from Gandalf’s cryptic wording), but she never did… until the day prior.

Maybe the Elves knew what was going on in the Lonely Mountain, with their trades reopened with Dale and such…

Luckily, a knock on the door saved her from ever trying to find the necessary braveness. Excusing herself she got up and walked up to the door. She didn't have Bilbo's side window, so she didn't know that, on the other side, stood shyly a third Elf.

He looked older than Legolas, despite barely holding a sole wrinkle in his skin. He had long, straight auburn hair, with thin gray lines starting to grow out at his temple. His body was curved slightly forward to peek his head from the frame of the small door and his clothes looked a little worn, but elegant nonetheless.

The Elf had a soft packet in his hands: green, glistening fabric held close by a silk ribbon.

When Rosefairy opened the door, he gathered all his wits to stand there without feeling terribly awkward. “Hello,” he muttered, clearly flustered beneath the typical façade Elves enveloped themselves into. “I… I am not late, am I? I got lost at least five times before I could find your house, the roads here are all so–” “Father please, calm down,” Rosefairy interrupted what seemed to be the starting of an imminent barrage of various apologies. “You made it in time.”

Like she did with Legolas and Tauriel, Rosefairy made a couple steps forward and hugged the old Elf. He, instead of standing upward, knelt to envelope the girl in quite a solid hug.“I’m sorry I could not visit earlier.” the Elf said, sighing in relief.

And he did. Being amongst the Royal Guards of Thranduil’s Hall, Tarenor had been pretty busy.

Rumors of darkness rekindled in the Mountains had worried the Silvan Elves in the last months, so he and other soldiers had to patrol all around the King’s residence, along the hidden paths of Mirkwood and down south, where the ghostly shape of Dol Guldur remained, frigid and hollow as a corpse.

Nothin came up, though, and when he received words from his daughter, Tarenor asked for a permit to temporarily leave his station. Only once he left Mirkwood, twenty-five years prior when his daughter reached out to him, otherwise, he had been loyal to his job.

Thranduil apparently thought he did well enough because the King of the Elves nodded to his request. Before he could change his mind, Tarenor fled towards The Shire for that special occasion.

He yearned for his daughter and his grandson in those long years, having only the memory of Rosefairy holding a little, babbling bundle of joy in her arms to lessen his pain.

Never in his long life, full of strife and the coldness of broken love, he thought he could ever have a grandson. The thought nipped at the edge of the chasm in his heart, filling it with drops of warmth.

Not enough to fill him, for nothing will heal an elven broken heart, but enough for him to feel content with life once more.

So, when he hugged his daughter after so many years, Tarenor’s smile was genuine. “But I’m glad I’m here, now,” he added as he released Rosefairy. The hobbit smiled at him, making a motion towards her home. “And I am too.” she replied. “Come, there are other guests already here and more to come. Thorian! Your Grandpa is here!” the woman bellowed cheerfully through the home as she showed Tarenor the way.

Legolas and Tauriel stood up as he entered the Big Room, both greeting him with respect. Tarenor appeared to be a little surprised to see both the Prince and the Captain of his people in the same home, but sat down nonetheless, giving Rosefairy the gift to be put away with the others.

A little, wicked smile appeared on Rosefairy’s face when she heard her son unlock the bathroom door. “Only speak in Quenya,” she whispered to her father, hand up to her mouth. “He refuses to learn even a lick of it…maybe he will be more prone to it with a little push.”

Tarenor chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh poor boy, you want him to learn elvish?” “I did, did I not?” “ _Loselleth_ , dear, you lived with us in Rivendell, you _had_ to learn it!” “He has elven blood in him, at least he has to know a couple of words!”.

Legolas and Tauriel continued to drink their tea as they watched father and daughter bicker until Thorian appeared at the round door with an excited “Grandpa!”.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

From that moment on, Thorian's birthday party took off.

Tarenor only spoke in Quenya for a couple of hours top, before caving into his grandson's pouts and huffs.

Rosefairy let the two to bond after that, seeing how her son seemed to hang on every word the old elf said. Thorian had only heard of his grandfather, the only time they met was when the young man was but a baby, but his mother had great care in describing the Elf with all the affection she felt for him.

Legolas and Tauriel, meanwhile, added their own contributions to Tarenor's tales, especially when ballads and traditions came into question.

Not long after, also Gandalf and Bilbo knocked at her door.

“Make yourself at home!” Rosefairy said to both and Bilbo snorted. “Not that Gandalf had any difficulty in ever doing that!” the hobbit chirped and the wizard only shook his head, careful not to hit the low ceiling with his gray crown.

Gandalf could not make a step in the Big Room that Thorian loudly cheered for his arrival, hounding him with questions about the world outside, his newest fireworks, how long he would stay.

Finally, as the last guests had their seating, Rosefairy grabbed Thorian’s wrapped gifts and carefully placed them on the central table. Her son was almost vibrating with anticipation, his eyes scanning the colorful, odd shapes and trying to decipher what was what.

Better leave the big ones for later, Thorian thought, and his hand enveloped around a small, long parcel while the others watched. One layer of brown paper and blue velvety ribbon later, Thorian had his first long-pipe in his palms.

The stained wood was finely hand-carved, showing a long-bodied dragon enveloping its tail along the stem, while the rest of the creature enveloped the bowl at the end with stretched wings.

Bilbo had a proud gaze as Thorian glowed up at the gift. “There is some pipe-weed for you to try it out later.” said the hobbit. “and you can shorten it if you don’t like it…! Or well, change the design really. I remembered you loved my tales, so–” “No, no! I… I love it. Thank you, uncle!” Thorian chirped, trying to contain the immense desire to try it immediately.

Temporarily leaving the pipe aside, Thorian went for the next package in line, one his mother made.

Usually, Rosefairy would prepare more gifts than usual to cover for the lack of extended family they had, but who was Thorian for complaining? The more the merrier, he preached!

After one shaving kit (the woman had to ransack all Bree to find it since hobbits rarely grew beards), a pouch filled to the brim with coins and a new book, Thorian hugged his mother sitting near him, thanking her.

The birthday boy then went and opened Tarenor’s gift, feeling something thick and light fall into his lap: it was a long, heavy cloak, with a big hood attached to it. The fabric was lighter than it looked, soft but durable and while Thorian held it high to watch it better, his keen eyes noticed barely visible dots and lines all along the inner side.

Tarenor came in his aide, explaining that what he was holding was called _Tiergol_ , or Traveler’s Cape. “It will show you the path whenever you are lost,” the older elf smiled, slowly placing a hand onto the fabric. “ _Tánana me i pata_ ” Tarenor whispered and immediately the fabric lit up. The small dots and lines sewn into it glowed of silvery light, showing the exact replica of the sky above them.

Thorian looked at the elven magic with incredulous awe, rising the cloak some more to admire it. “Woah…” breathed the boy. He remained enchanted until the light dissolved, a fist of seconds later. “How do I light it up again??” Thorian asked, gaining a small chuckle from his grandfather. “I’ll teach you the words later,” winked at him. “Now I think there is one last gift, was it?” he pointed to the last package.

Rosefairy mouthed towards his father a quick _‘traveler?? What??’_ but could not gain a reply back because her son exclaimed. “A SWORD??” quite excitedly.

Yes, Thorian thought, that was the best birthday that far.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The maid-hobbit smiled on her own as she prepared the rest of the food to bring into the Big Room. Plate after plate, she filled the air with saliva-inducing scents.

Even the usually-not-that-foody Elves turned their attention to the dishes. “Smells wonderful!” Bilbo smiled, while Thorian was eyeing a particularly tasty piece of meat. “Have at it!” Rosefairy smiled at all her guests while taking a seat near her son.

Vegetables and potatoes got kidnapped almost immediately by the elven side of the table, while Thorian served himself of a healthy portion of honeyed meats, warm bread, and a mug full of homemade mead.

They ate, they chatted, they laughed with the clinking of plates and cutlery accompanying their voices.

Slowly the fiery summer sun started to dim down behind the horizon, coloring the sky in soft shades of lilac. The first stars appeared through the skylight above their heads.

And as soon the candles were lit up by a flick of Gandalf’s fingers, another type of mood was set: the cheerful talking from before became rowdier and rowdier. Jokes became naughtier and peals of laughter exploded in exuberant roars instead of relaxed chuckles.

The wine Rosefairy had searched far and wide in all the Shire finally planted its roots even in her elven guests and Tauriel’s face was red as her hair, giggling uncontrollably while Tarenor slurred away a tale about a porcupine, the young Prince’s buttocks, and a vase.

The aforementioned blond Prince seemed divided between wanting to sink into the floor and ignore his pride and laugh together with the rest of his friends.

Thorian had been laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair, howling and tilting his head as he slapped his own knee. “Someone please shut him up!” Legolas chortled as he hid behind his nursed drink. “I will shut up, my Prince, if there’s better entertainment!” Tarenor garbled. The birthday boy grabbed the challenge with both hands, jumping on his feet and raising his glass high.

_“Hey, ho, to the bottle I go  
To heal my heart and drown my woe  
Rain may fall and wind may blow  
But there still be many miles to go  
Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain  
And stream that falls from hill to plain  
Better than rain or rippling brook  
Is a mug of beer inside this Took!”_

His voice, baritone and smooth, enchanted the room for a second before the cheers started up again, Tauriel clapping and Rosefairy watching her son shocked. “Thorian Noakes! Where did you learn that song?? It was that youngster you go out with, I bet!” she exclaimed, only for her son to smirk and sign her to stand up. “Leave Paladin out of this, mother!” Thorian laughed back. “If you have better songs please be my guest!” he snickered before gulping down the last of his mead.

Being his mother, Rosefairy was double the scamp Thorian was and so, grabbing the metaphorical glove thrown at her, she huffed a little ‘heh’ before starting to pound her fist on the table with a rhythmical pace.

_“There's an inn, there's an inn, a merry old inn  
beneath the old grey hill,  
And there they brew a beer so brown  
The Man in the Moon himself came down  
One night to drink his fill.”_

As soon as the girl started to sing, Bilbo’s eyes lit up and his smile grew even wider between his reddened cheeks.

Taken by drunkenness, he started to beat to the tune as well. Old merry memories started to flood in him and the hobbit hummed to the song as the lady of the house continued to sing even quicker and louder.

_“The ostler has a tipsy cat  
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;  
And up and down he saws his bow  
Now squeaking high! Now purring low,  
now sawing in the middle.”_

It was a good imitation of Bofur’s cheerfulness, Bilbo noticed. It was instead incredibly sad, noticed Gandalf, as he saw through the glee of the woman and saw the crave for the old days. For the old Company.

Despite that, the little group enjoyed it, even more, when Bilbo added to it, chanting a quite off-tuned “‘It’s after three!’ he said!” before falling off his chair.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Like that the dinner went on and on, the moon treading across its usual path until the food disappeared, the wine was drunk and the guests were barely awake, sprawled on the sofas or folded on the chairs like laundry fresh off the ropes.

Silence and soft snoring only survived the previous chaos. Rosefairy was in the kitchen, a faint smile on her as she washed the mount of dishes piled on either side of her.

It had been nice, going back to a rowdy company of friends. Sure the elves could never match dwarven shenanigans, but it was enough for her to feel at ease.

One plate after another she worked, slowly and easy. “I think Thorian enjoyed the party,” came the soft, mumbling voice of Gandalf behind her. “You did well.”

“I did?” Rosefairy replied without turning her gaze off the dishes, foamy water glistening in the low light. “Yes, miss Noakes, you did well. With both the party and the boy,” Gandalf sat on the small counter near the woman, hunched over against the low ceiling. “Still a little rough around the edges, not a proper hobbit, like dear Bilbo… but I guess the dwarven blood is stronger than the hobbit one.”

Like a rabbit in front of a fox, the woman froze at the words, watching her hands grasp at the plate between her fingers. She didn’t reply, hoping that the wizard change subject or at least talk and let her stay in the safety of silence.

He did not do either thing. “Did you tell him?” Gandalf asked Rosefairy, leaning his body towards her as to gently pressure a response.

The maid-hobbit finished washing that last plate, piled it on the top of the porcelain hill, and then turned her back to the wizard, walking up to the farthest counter with a rag in her hand. “I…did not,” she whispered, at last, busying herself on a particular stain in the wood.

Gandalf sighed heavily, shaking his head. “You need to tell him.” “Gandalf, it wouldn’t change anything. Knowing…” the woman grabbed the rag, squeezing it in his hands as if it gave her courage. “Knowing would only complicate things. Thorian has a good life here–” “He has to know his roots. Find his people.”

That was a thought Rosefairy bounced in her head multiple times during the last twenty years. There were the near Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains, where the people of Erebor found a new home. But a lot of them traveled back to the Lonely Mountain when it had been conquered back by the dwarves… every time a caravan of dwarves and dwarrowdams passed through The Shire, Rosefairy used every trick in the book to keep Thorian safe, away from suspecting eyes.

“Gandalf… I… I don’t think it would be a good idea for him to know who he is,” she turned to watch the face of her old friend, seeing only gentle eyes beneath the bushy eyebrows. “My dear… he is the Crown Prince of Erebor. He has a duty to his people–” “and has he not a duty towards his mother?” the maid-hobbit interrupted him, eyes large with apprehension. “You spoke about social unrest in the Kingdom Under The Mountain and I will not lose my son to some political game the dwarves started among each other!” Rosefairy hissed, scared and angry.

Silence fell again for a moment or two before the wizard could talk again, with a forceful gentleness in his voice that showed how much old he was. “Your son will know his roots… He will investigate one day or another.” Gandalf declared. “You will not be able to keep him away from the truth all his life and you will end up losing him to both your stubbornness.”

Gandalf walked up to the confused hobbit and placed a hand on her shoulder. His voice then softened. “He is safe here. If you use the right words, knowing will only complete his life without asking for trouble… I’ll make sure of that myself.” the wizard now gave her an encouraging smile.

It was not encouraging at all, Rosefairy thought, but at least it was a promise she knew Gandalf would keep. Because he loved Thorian like a nephew and her like they were family.

Taking a few steps from the old man, Rosefairy walked up towards the fireplace; on the mantle, she grabbed the letter she sealed shut right before dinner. “I… I need you to deliver one last letter, my dear friend. If I have to tell Thorian everything, I need the help of the wisest dwarf I know,” her fingers shook as she handed him the missive, but Gandalf took her hand in his, enfolding it in his palms.

A nod and the letter disappeared in the wizard’s grey robes.

There were no words exchanged after that, but only a slow press in the hobbit’s chest. She didn’t know if it was some magic trick on Gandalf's behalf or the relief of confession after so many years, but her eyes swelled with tears. Her breath came out in hiccups and she instinctively searched for a hug like a child would do with their parents.

The hobbit silently cried against Gandalf, clawing at his clothes while the old man patted her back.

Emotions flared inside her mind: fear, release, happiness, anxiety.

She was going to tell her dear son who he was. Who his father was.

And why he was not with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos I'm so happy in so little time this story is already liked çwç)/ <3

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are my life and joy uwu)/


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